


Drunk And In Love

by waywardangell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Crackhead Fic, M/M, This is supposed to be funny, castiel has religious truama, homophobic angels, rated for language and dean being flirty, this is NOT a smut fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardangell/pseuds/waywardangell
Summary: *thump*“Hehe. I like p*ssy, Cas.”“Yes. I know you do, Dean”It was no secret. Dean was very drunk. Sam and Jack had gone on a supply run out of town; they wouldn’t be back for hours. So, Castiel had to take care of the mess that stumbled into the bunker at 3am. Seeing as Cas had never truly dealt with a drunk human before (specifically one he cared so much about), it was bound to end terribly.( a huge thank you to twitter moots for giving me your drunk!deancas headcanons )
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 86





	Drunk And In Love

** *thump* **

“Hehe. I like pussy, Cas.”

“Yes. I know you do, Dean”

It was no secret. Dean was  very  drunk. Sam and Jack had gone on a supply run out of town; they wouldn’t be back for hours. So, Castiel had to take care of the mess that stumbled into the bunker at 3am. Seeing as Castiel had never truly dealt with a drunk human before _(specifically one he cared so much about)_ it was bound to end terribly. 

He tiredly led him to the map table, turning a few lamps on to easily keep an eye on the wasted. He set him in a chair, running to get some water and a pillow for him. 

“CaaaastIEL! Listen to me, would ya? I want yOu to BoW me. No. Plow me. Yeagh that’s it.”

“Dean you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“But I DO! Casgiel. Look me in the eyes on my head.”

He quickly averted his gaze from the books he’d scrounged from the bunker on “How To Sober Up a Drunk Demon.” As suspected, seeing as Dean wasn't a demon, it wasn’t helpful. He did as Dean said, looking up to his entrancing, devilishly green eyes. Dean leaned in. Maybe a bit  too  close, because Castiel could feel his breath dance along his stubble. He didn’t like it. Oh, he _did_ like it, but he wasn't supposed to admit that.

He gently pushed Dean back into the curve of the wooden chair, standing to go and sit across from the mess he had been beside.

Dean followed his eyes.

“Hey, Cassie. Have I ever told you your eyes are very very  very  pretty? They look like an oceagen. That’s the right word, isn’t it?”

“Dean. I really wish you wouldn’t be saying reckless things like that right now.” 

He sighed, tilting his head to contemplate his situation. 

“Why did you have to go get drunk?” 

He knew very well that for Dean Winchester to get drunk, he would have to nearly drink out an entire bar. It was like he was immune. 

“Uhhhhhhhh DURRR. Because I feeeeeel you. You make my stomach all flippy and my thingy do things. Heh.” He smirked, blinking aggravatingly at Cas. At which, was assumed as a supposed-to-be wink.

An oblivious Cas was sent blushing as he realized what  that  meant. He aggressively closed the stupid book, looking dumbfounded at the human in his charge.  How do I do this?

He needed a goddamn award for all of the dealing he did with him.

“Dean. Please stop. Please.”

“Whyyyyyyyy, Cassie?! I need you to KNOWWE these things!! You must put them in the pretty vessel head of yourrrrs. But shhhhhhh. Because it’s a secret. Only Sammantha knows how I feel about Castiel. You cannoooot tell Cas, mmk?”

“Jesus Christ.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to convince himself that he didn’t mean what he was saying. _He couldn’t let him get to him. He was_ _ not  going to let anything happen.  _

Oh. Who was he kidding? Nothing would happen even if Dean had drank all of the beer in the world. He  didn’t  feel that way about him. Frankly, Castiel didn’t know he felt the way he did until he was a human. All of those emotions. He felt some as an angel, but all of those feelings and with more intensity and physical sensations than before? To feel everything sincerely, every touch, every breath, every nip of cold air, every heartache: It was painful. Otherworldly torture, to say the least.

He looked up to find Dean in the next room, slurringly humming carousel music and... twerking?

“Dean.... Dean, please get down from there. D-Don’t climb up on the table.”

Making his way towards the scene, Castiel toyed with his coat’s waistband. He found himself doing that, the more his grace started to fall away. A nervous gesture to keep him occupied. Maybe that’s why his feelings were more pressing lately. Maybe they were related.

He didn’t know much about relationships, or if love at all for that matter. He knew he had been taught, at some point (things got mixed together as you aged, being a celestial being and all.) that men and women belong together, never men and men. But, he’d heard that to be the reason Gabriel left. 

He couldn’t blame him. Now that he’d been able to see the other side of heaven’s doings, he wished he would have left a long time ago. He had Dean and Sam to thank for showing him another way. 

And with the knowledge that heaven wasn’t all he thought it was, he wondered if they were wrong about that, too. After all, Dean always did say they were “dickbags.” 

“HEY Casegiel come on up with me.”

He was caught back in the present moment, looking up to see Dean on the table. 

“Dean. You should really get down from there. You could get hurt.”

“Agghhh awe I made angel you gone softt.”

He was right, even drunk. And Castiel knew it. 

“Yes, you have. Now, give me your hand so I can get you down from there.”

After a couple minutes of protesting, he obliged and let Cas lead him to the kitchen with him, seemingly making him hold on to the waistband he had been messing with as a leash. 

Knowing Dean wouldn’t willingly drink water, he poured out a beer and replaced the liquid with it, herding Dean to the table. 

“I.. uhm. Don’t really know how to make bacon. And I assume you’re too drunk to make some yourself or show me how.. so...”

“Don’t STAND. SIT. sit. sit,” he angrily patted the seat beside him, ushering for Cas to sit there with his ‘beer’ hand, the water sloshing everywhere. 

So, he sat. Sighing, looking at Dean with sorrowful eyes. He was worried. He had started getting used to that feeling, the feeling like everything he touched would crumble to pieces. 

There were a few minutes of silence as Castiel watched him gain more life in his eyes. 

“You haven’t thrown up yet.”

“Shmowmup throw up.........Sssson of a bitch.”

Cue the trip to the trash can.

Castiel quickly got up after him, taking off his flannel to only leave his bare arms and tight-fitted shirt. He was sweating. A lot. 

He rubbed his back gingerly, thinking of ways he could try to get Dean to talk to him about why he came back like this once he started to gain consciousness - mindful to not take advantage of his state to gain information.

“Hey, angel boy... Did I ever tell you you’ve got pretty eyes?” His sly smirk spread across his face. 

He received a bit of blushing, but the moment was ruined as it immediately proceeded with more vomit. 

“Shit. Sorry, Casegiel”

“Don’t be sorry, Dean.”

“I ammm. You look hurt.”

They stood there like that for a couple more minutes, Cas wiping Dean’s forehead with his shirt, patting his back every time he threw up. And finally, he was steady enough for Cas to bring him to his room. 

He sat him on the bed, starting to head out.

Dean reached for his wrist. 

“Waitttt, Cas. Stay with me?”

He looked at him, really looked at him; and Cas looked back. He was a drunken mess, but he was still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester. It was somewhat off-putting and/or reassuring that there was some life in his eyes. Something to prove it was actually him, not just the drunken, touchy-feely, no personal space, drunk bastard he was an hour ago. 

“Always.”

And with that, he stayed.

He sat his chair at the bottom corner of the bed.

“My head hurts, Casegiel.”

“I know, Dean. Just rest.”

Castiel went to pat the pillow for him to put his head down, noticing the scratchy thread count and the way it tingled on his fingertips after moving his hand away.

He usually had his best conversations with Dean while he was drunk. He would tell him things he was worried about, things he normally would never speak of it purposely if lucid. After listening and comforting him, Dean wouldn’t remember it by morning. But, Cas would. That way, he knew how to help him when he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t have to sit and feel helpless. 

And although Dean didn’t realize it, he still received some of his prayers. Maybe he did realize it, but he would never bring it up. After purgatory though, when he had confronted Cas about it after praying, they had become less frequent. He guessed, in a human sense, it was embarrassment. He never asked for anything in his prayers. Usually, when he was awaiting Cas' arrival or banking on him to save them, he’d repeat, “Come on, Cas,” until he knew he was safe, or that they’d all be okay. It was comforting, actually. Castiel started to doubt himself more, the closer to human he became. Dean's words inspired him, reminded him that the Winchesters trusted him, that Jack trusted him..... That Dean  cared  for him.

“Cas...giel. Tell me a story.”

“Dean... I’m not very good at storytelling. I don’t know very many. I’ve been told I have a very 'monotone' voice. No good for storytelling.”

Dean playfully smiled at Cas, starting to flip on his back. 

“Wellllll.. then I will tell YOU a story...”

He started unbuckling his pants. He’d taken his shirt off and started to pull his pants off before Castiel caught on.

“DEAN. **NO**.”

Racing to throw the covers on him, Dean pulled Cas onto the bed. 

_ How am I supposed to babysit him while he's acting like this?? _

He pushed himself up, throwing the pillow Dean had try to trap him there with at his open torso, and made his way to his dresser. 

He picked up his favorite shirt of his, a black one with very faded grey lettering that read 'Led Zeppelin.' 

The shirt threw harder than Cas had meant it to, making a  thunk  sound against Dean's muscled abdomen. And Cas  really  tried not to think of that.

_ Human emotions were exhausting. _

“Your shirt you had on earlier has vomit on it and is drenched in beer-scented sweat. Put that one on. You know I can’t concentrate when you’re acting childish like this.”

He didn’t look the man sprawled out on the bed in the eyes, instead, he focused intently on the floor.  Was that old pizza-

“Awhhhh come on, Cassie. You won’t tell me a story! I have to tell youuuuu one. Hehe. You know you want.”

“Put the shirt on and I’ll tell you a story,” he exhaled in one breath, looking to the corner defeatedly. 

He obliged.

“Well. In the beginning-“

“Ughhhhhhhh no,” Dean groaned. He pushed his head into the cheap pillow.

“Alright. On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you?l”

“Pssshhh. Negative tragillion.”

“Well then, I’ll tell you....the story of the Angel of Thursday.”

He turned to his side, staring at Castiel intently as he began.

“Uhm. This angel wasn’t special. He wasn’t a scribe, he wasn’t an archangel, he wasn’t head of a garrison, needless to say: he wasn’t someone anyone in heaven particularly favored. He followed orders. Blindly followed them. He was a good soldier. He listened, he did what he was told. That is, until, he met the righteous man. Now, everything changed after that.”

Dean sat up on his elbow, widely alert. Though, Castiel didn’t notice. He sighed, slightly chuckling to himself.

“He had orders, from God-or so he was told, he had never met God himself. He didn’t have evidence that he existed, just believed. He was told God commanded him to go to hell to save an innocent soul, a soul the big man had plans for. He had never really been called to do anything, but, he went forward... or.... downwards. He didn’t know that soul would change him, change his life entirely.. well, not life. He was an angel, after all.

And so, he went to hell and raised the righteous man from perdition.”

He glanced over to Dean, whom was resting his head on his elbows. He looked a bit more alert, concerning Castiel to not talk too fondly of the character in the story. 

He cleared his throat.

“Heaven’s bells rang, the angels cried out, **_‘The Righteous Man Has Been Saved From Perdition! The Angel Of Thursday Has Saved Him!’_ **It was honoring, really. But now, he was being watched. The other angels started to pay more attention to him. And that... was a bit nerve-wracking, so you humans put it.

It was fine, really. He thought he’d go back to work. Answer healing prayers, complete tasks that his garrison had been given. But, the man, the righteous man, had been curious. The angel was supposed to keep watch, make sure things were going smoothly. He tried to watch him firsthand, but his presence had deeply interrupted the peace of the setting, causing the man to get angry and and causing him to cower away. He kept pushing, asking, until the angel knew he had to step in. Needing a vessel, he answered prayers for a holy man to be used in the arms of God. Jimmy- uhm... a holy man. And that became the angel’s human presence.” 

Did he say too much? Did he give too much away?

His thoughts were interrupted by Dean.

“More. I like this ‘righteous man,’” he yawned.

Nervously shifting, he looked directly above Dean’s eyes to continue. _(His eyes were often distracting)_

“Right. Well, He told the righteous man the truth. He told him he was an angel of the lord, that he gripped him right and raised him from perdition. That he was sent by God because God has plans for him. The hard part, was getting the stubborn man to listen to him. For some reason, he didn’t believe a word he said. But, it wasn’t his job or role to be the one to convince the man. Watching from heaven as nothing had changed and nothing was the way it was supposed to be, as the man and his people weren’t following the plan was aggravating. He needed to right a wrong. So, he stepped in. Though it had good intentions, it wasn’t seen as a good deed. 

When he started to become wary of the way his brothers and sisters were treating the man he saved, they claimed he had become too close to him. He’d become too close to the humans in his charge. 

They didn’t want what was best for creation, they wanted what was best for them, for heaven.”

Anger began to build up in his voice. Unwanted, it rose to his vessel’s throat, cracking a bit as the memories came back.

Dean, still drunk, threw his arm out the bed. Whether it was Dean or the beer talking, Castiel didn’t know. He reached out enough to pat his knee.

“Hey..shhhh shhhh shhh. Don’t be sad,” he leaned his head into the pillow. “..This is a good story.”

He slightly beamed at the small gesture, giving his hand a squeeze before he let go. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he mumbled, his voice gravely and low with a sense of exasperation and weakness that had lasted for centuries. 

He slowly caught his eye, a blissful smile spreading across Dean's face.

“I like you. You're pretty.”

“So you’ve told me, at least three times tonight. One followed by puke.”

“Heh. Sorry, buddy. Buddy. Y’know? All those times i’ve said buddy, I really meant to say babe.”

“You’re intoxicated. It’s all over your face; you’ve been to a den of iniquity.”

“Nope. No inequality. Just thinking. About my super secret top secret emotions that I keep from you.”

It was hard, really. To hear Dean say all the things he didn’t mean, the things Castiel  wanted  him to mean.

“He stood beside his leader, a higher angel. Uriel was a stern angel, was told to watch Thursday’s angel closely, make sure he was doing his job. He had rebelled. He went against everything he had ever known for centuries, all for this righteous man. He hunted, he rebelled, and he did it, all of it, for him. And later on, when he had built up his army in hopes of putting heaven back to its former glory, or to glory in the first place, he once again relinquished it all for the man. Everything he built, everything he had accomplished, everything he did - for him. 

But, was it worth it?”

He paused, peering over to the bed. The sheets were rustled and fragranced with the intoxicating aura of beer. Dean was attentive, but slowly drifting into sleep. His eyes were grossly alluring as they made their appearance in slithers, as his eyelids weighed them down halfway. 

Castiel thought about all the time he had spent with Dean, with Sam, with Jack. If it weren’t for him going ‘rogue,’ he would have never had Jack. At least, not a connection. The action he took led to millions of reactions, some favorable, some fatalistic. But all in all, was it really worth it? Throwing everything away for one man?

“I.. He thought it was. And if he had to do it all again... He would.”

A contempt silence stuffed the hot air between them. Although, contempt didn’t mean neither of them weren’t anxiously awaiting the next to speak, to dare say what they really felt.  Yes, even drunk. 

“Question?”

“Yes?”

“Did you like the mixtape? I think that thought in my head a lot.”

“Well... Music isn’t really something I enjoy as a pleasure; I don’t find it leisurely appealing. I’ve always thought there were too many waves of-“

Dean shifted, his face falling sullen. 

“You didn’t like it.”

“I.... No, Dean. I’m quite fond of it. That must have taken a bit of work. You took time out of hunting to make that, even when you were angered at my deceiving actions. Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel gazed at Dean with uncertainty, his body entangled and tussled into the covers. He silently chuckled, thinking about how silly it was that they only had these conversations whilst he was drunk. 

“You’re too good to me, angel,” Dean sighed. He stretched out his arms, barely tapping Castiel’s knee once more. 

“Well, Dean, you know I always appreciate our talks, our time together. Slightly less when you’re intoxicated, but nonetheless...... You should rest. I’ll leave you to rest.” He stood, tugging his coat in his hands to cover his lower stomach.

An attractively desperate gasp escaped Dean’s thin lips, followed by him reaching out to Cas.

“Wait, no. Please don’t leave me again.“

“You won’t fall asleep if I stay. You’ll only continue your... well, frankly,  inappropriate banter with me.” 

If there was one thing Castiel had begun to hate about humans, it was their power of persuasion by the performance of guilt. That, and stupid “puppy dog eyes.” 

He sighed, taking a once-over at the depressed, bastardly mess he was leaving behind. He always neglected this part of the night.

There was a mere angel-blade-sized distance between them when Castiel lowered his hand to Dean’s damp forehead, using all of the ‘mojo juice,’ (as Dean called it), as he could to relieve his headache for a bit.

It lingered there for a bit, his hand. His coarse, slightly-human thumb stroking his brow bone.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

He headed for the door, but stopped when he heard him speak.

“You always leave, y’know. When things get risky?”

Pausing, he took a moment to properly collect his thoughts and respond.

_ He won’t remember this by morning _

“I’m afraid of letting you down, Dean. But, I seem to do it, anyway. So, I guess I should work on that.”

“I guess I’m just scared I’ll lose you for good.”

“I guess we’re both scared for silly reasons, huh?”

He hummed. 

“Goodnight, Dean. Not goodbye, but goodnight.”

A mumble. A murmur so timidly quiet that it barely graced past Cas’ ears, gingerly ringing as the heat set into his chest.

“Night. I love you, Cas.”

He inaudibly closed the door at his departure, daring to not look back at him, to leave his feelings that sparked so long ago in that room for good. The words haunted him, persistant in the stiff air in front of him.

_ He was drunk. _

_ He was tired. _

_ He is your best friend, nothing more._

“You’ll forget,” he said to himself. 

“You always forget.”

. . . . . . 

The aura of slightly burnt coffee roamed through the mid-morning bunker. Cas tiredly stumbled into the kitchen, where Dean, Sam, and Jack sat at the dining table.

Sam visibly perked up, his eyebrows knitting into an apologetic look. 

“Oh, hey, Cas! We got back early this morning. We lost service with the storm, sorry. I would have messaged you. I’ve never really seen you sleep, otherwise I would‘ve woken you up to tell you we were here.”

He nodded in compliance, making his way over to the table.

Castiel quickly studied Dean’s demeanor, adverting his gaze in fear of eye contact. He looked pretty damn great, all things considered. But, then again, when did he  not  look ‘pretty damn great?’

“Hey - make some more coffee. For the kid. He’s gotta lotta long hours ahead of him if we’re still planning on,” he made a motion for an imaginary axe in his hand, clenching his teeth to make a ‘ eee rrr eee rr ’ type sound.  “-ing God.”

Chuckling at his own joke, he reached to give Jack a fatherly pat on the back, his large hand engulfing his whole shoulder and reassuring his nervous laugh.

Of course, if Cas had been listening or paying attention at all, he would have melted into a soft smile at the sight.

“Cas... Hey, man,” He twisted to face Cas. “Castiel!”

“S-sorry. What do you need, again?”

A smirk sneaked into Dean’s flirty stance.

“What, the ‘Angel of Thursday’ can’t make a damn pot of coffee?”

_Wait_.

“What did you say?”

“I-uhm. Nothing,” He cleared his throat, turning back to face his brother, taking the rest of his coffee like a shot. “So. Whatcha got there, Sammy?”

The bright blue laptop screen illuminated Sam’s face. Jack pulled up a chair.

“So get this.. a group of teens who had gone missing come back from their hike - to a mountain known to be a place of worship and peace - two weeks later, claiming to have seen God. They .....”

And they went on. Like nothing had happened. 

Because little did Cas know, Dean remembered every bit of it. Every conversation, every night they spent while Dean would drift off to sleep. He remembered. Dean Winchester couldn’t get drunk. At least not as many times as Cas thought he did. He got buzzed and played it up. He wanted an excuse to talk to the angel. 

And though Cas would probably never know, Dean meant every word.

Every. Single. Word.

**Author's Note:**

> baha i’m so sorry you had to read that


End file.
